Page 30 of Hunted By Valentine

Our dad tried to have him killed, so it makes sense that he’s skittish now that he’s home. Even if our dad is worm food by now, betrayal like that lingers. I should know. Every time I think about the man who sired us, my heartbeat quickens and my palms become clammy while anger burns through my veins.

Yeah, his death hasn’t erased that natural reaction.

Wanting to shake the thoughts of him out of my head, I look around. The space is immaculate, but not in a good way.

There’s a coldness I’ve never felt here before. Despite how beautiful the place is, it feels wrong. Somehow devoid of Jack in a way that has nothing to do with the fact he’s been gone since before Christmas. No, it’s deeper than that. It’s as though he doesn’tlivehere, but simplyexists.

Jack moves to the kitchen, the soft clink of glasses reaching my ears. “Drink?” he calls.

“Please,” I respond, sinking onto the plush leather couch. My eyes drift to a small table near the window, where a single framed photo sits. It’s of Nick, me, and Jack; the three of us as children, before everything went to hell. Before responsibilities and the family curse became our reality.

As Jack returns, handing me a crystal tumbler filled with amber liquid, I scrutinize each movement he makes. He looks better, and when he moves, he doesn’t look to be in pain. I guess the doctors and Nick were right to insist on keeping him there until he was completely healed. Or at least mostly healed.

Seeing Jack in the hospital wasn’t just a shock to the system, it was a shock to my damn soul. My larger-than-life brother lying there with tubes sticking out of him… his sickly pale skin, and… nope. Not going there again.

He settles beside me, his tall frame dwarfing mine. “So,” he says, green eyes twinkling with mischief, “tell me all about these obligations of yours that are keeping you so busy.”

I choke on my drink, heat rising to my cheeks. “Umm…” I stammer, caught off guard by the question. “Michael wanted me to enroll at HollowayUniversity.”

“He what?” Jack’s tone is filled with incredulity. “To do what? Why didn’t you tell me?”

Shrugging, I try to pretend it’s no big deal, which is beyond stupid. My brother knows that if I keep something from him, it’s because it means more than I want anyone to know. “It’s no big deal. Seriously, Jack, you were recovering from being shot. Academics pale compared to that.”

He rolls his eyes and scoffs. “Okay, how about you tell me the real reason?”

As I said, he knows me too well. “I don’t know,” I say, worrying my bottom lip. “It honestly didn’t seem that important.”

“Right.” His tone makes it perfectly clear he doesn’t believe me. “So, what are you studying?”

“Criminology,” I rush out. “With Professor Grant.”

To my surprise, Jack throws his head back and laughs boisterously. “But of course,” he smirks obnoxiously. “Trophy wives all over the world are doing just that. Nothing screams criminology like—”

“Stop it,” I hiss. “Look, I don’t know why Michael wants me there, but it doesn’t matter. It is what it is, so just leave it alone.”

“Rubes—”

I hold up my hand to silence him. “Leave it, Jack.”

He stops laughing as abruptly as he started. His eyes narrow as he tilts his head to the side. “What or who are you protecting, Ruby?”

I gulp.

Raking a hand down his face, he exhales loudly. “Fine, I’ll leave it for now. But only because I’m too exhausted to continue arguing with you.”

I give my brother a small, grateful smile. “Thank you,” I murmur.

“Tell me about you. How are you feeling?”

Jack’s expression softens, and he reaches out to squeeze my hand. “I’m okay, Ruby. Really. You don’t need to worry about me.”

His words trigger a memory, and suddenly I’m transported back to a summer day when I was eight years old.

I’m standing in our backyard, tears streaming down my face after falling off my bike. Jack, barely a teenager himself, kneels beside me.

“Hey, it’s okay,” he says softly, examining my scraped knee. “You’re tougher than you think, Ruby. Here, let me show you something.”

He gently helps me up and guides me through a series of defensive stances. “If anyone ever tries to hurt you,” he explains, “you use these moves. But more importantly, you remember that you’re strong. You’re a Knight.”

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